Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

A woman’s wedding was supposed to be the most beautiful, joyous day of her life. It was something Ciara MacDougal had spent countless hours dreaming of when she was just a lass. She had planned everything out to the last detail, and it had brought her immeasurable joy. With the day of her wedding drawing near, however, joy was the last thing she felt. Instead of feasting, and music, and beautiful gowns, Ciara found herself plotting how she was going to escape into the green, misty Highlands and run away from it all.

Ciara tucked a long strand of her golden hair behind her ear as she gazed at herself in the looking glass wondering, not for the first time, how she’d ended up in her predicament. A long, pained sigh passed her lips.

“Ye look beautiful.”

Ciara turned to her handmaid and closest friend, Elspeth and smiled. “Ye’ve said that about every gown I’ve tried on.”

“That’s because ye’ve looked beautiful all of them.”

Despite her sour mood, Ciara laughed. Elspeth always had a way of bringing a little light into her darkest thoughts. Her good humor quickly faded though as she returned her gaze to the looking glass and to the gaudy blue gown she was wearing.

“I look like a bleedin’ strumpet in this gown,” she complained.

“Language,” Elspeth chided her. “A proper lady?—”

“I dinnae care about me bleedin’ language or bein’ a proper lady,” Ciara growled. “This gown is too tight and leaves me breasts hangin’ out fer everybody tae see. I suppose it’s fine enough fer the English, but it I dinnae like it.”

“Come now, me Lady,” Elspeth said. “You’re marryin’ an English lord. How terrible can that be? Think of the balls ye’ll attend with all that finery and?—”

“Ye sound positively besotted. Maybe ye should marry him,” she said.

Elspeth’s full lips curved upward. “Believe me, if I was a lady instead of yer handmaiden, and suitable tae marry a lord, English or nae, I would be skippin’ down the aisle.”

“Have ye seen the man?”

“I have. I snuck a peek at him when he arrived,” she teased. “Tall and handsome he is. I swear tae the good Lord I dinnae ken what ye’re winging about.”

Ciara scoffed. “He’s prissy and pale. Reminds me of a walking corpse he does. Nae only that, I’ve heard stories about him?—”

“People love tae wag their tongues, they dae. Ye shouldnae believe everything ye hear.”

“They say he’s cruel. Evil,” Ciara said.

“They say, they say,” Elspet cut in. “Who says? And have they seen him dae anything cruel and evil with their own bleedin’ eyes?”

“Language, Elspeth,” Ciara teased.

The short, waiflike redhead waved her off. “I’m nae lady and can speak any way I wish,” she said. “Anyway, like I said, people love tae wag their tongues. Ye ken the English arenae well-loved here and people make up all kinds of stories about them eating Scottish babes. Am I really supposed tae believe they’re spit roasting babes fer supper?”

Ciara knew Elspeth took a more favorable view of the English than she did simply because she was in love with an Englishman.

“Try seein’ all the good that can come out of this marriage. Ye can only see the bad because that’s all ye’re lookin’ fer,” Elspeth urged.

Ciara fixed her with a sober gaze. “Because there is nothin’ good that can come out of this arranged marriage. I dinnae want tae marry this man.”

“Nae, I ken. Ye want tae marry yourself some big, strappin’ Highlander.”

“Is it so wrong tae want tae wed one of me own people?”

“It’s nae wrong. But that big, strappin’ Highlander isnae going tae be able tae secure yer family’s future the way hitchin’ yerself tae a nobleman will, even if he be English.”

“And that’s the problem, Elspeth. I dinnae want me marriage to be part of some political game. I dinnae want tae marry somebody just because he can secure me family’s future. I want tae marry a man because I love him.”

Elspeth frowned. “But ye ken that’s nae the way the world works. Nae fer womenfolk. Nae even yer maither, God rest her soul, had a choice in who she married. But she eventually came tae love yer faither.”

A wan smile touched Ciara’s lips as she thought of her mother. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t miss her. She just wished she knew what had happened to her. She was certain some evil had befallen her beloved mother and that her father was at the center of all. Without proof though, Ciara had forced herself to accept the likely reality that her mother was dead, yet too many questions still lingered for her to ever be at peace.

“Aye. Me maither loved him in her own way, I suppose,” she finally said. “But she was never truly happy. That much I can tell ye fer certain. She was a prisoner every bit as much as those poor souls down in the cells beneath me faither’s keep.”

Ciara’s gaze drifted to the bag she’d stored beneath her bed and her heart fluttered as her stomach clenched so tight, it made her wince. She was not going to be stuck living the life her mother had been forced to live. She wasn’t going to live a life devoid of happiness. Or true love. Elspeth followed Ciara’s gaze and spotted the bag beneath the bed and sighed, her expression one of near grief.

“I’d hoped ye’d come tae yer senses and given up that notion by now,” Elspeth said.

“Ye should ken me better than that.”

“Are ye really going through with it?”

“I am.”

“Nay way I can talk ye out of it?”

“None.”

Elspeth sighed again. “I wish ye’d reconsider.”

“I cannae. I willnae,” Ciara said. “I’m nae some piece of livestock tae be auctioned off tae the highest bidder and I willnae be treated like I am. And if ye loved me as well as ye say ye dae, ye’d understand and want better fer me.”

“I dae love ye and want nothin’ but the best fer ye. I said I’d help ye, didnae I?” she objected. “I just ken this will cause a lot of problems fer ye, yer family, and yer clan.”

“I’m doing this fer me family and me clan. And fer me.”

“I dinnae think yer faither will see it that way. Ye ken he’ll stop at nothin’ tae bring ye back tae marry yer English lord,” she cautioned.

“Thus, proving he only sees me as a commodity tae be bartered and sold.”

As if the mere mention summoned him, heavy footfalls sounded in the corridor outside Ciara’s bedchamber sending a wave of fear washing through her. She looked to Elspeth who, as if reading her mind, darted over to the bed and gave the bag beneath it a firm kick, sending it further into the dark recesses, shielding it from view.

The heavy oak door swung open suddenly, crashing against the stone wall behind it. Ciara’s father, Laird Robert MacDougal, stood in the doorway, his deep-set dark eyes sliding up and down her body as he silently took her in. She’d seen him look at horses he was considering buying the same way he gazed at her, which only reinforced Ciara’s notion that he viewed her as nothing but a piece of livestock to be bought and sold according to his whims.

“Daughter,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Have ye settled on a dress fer the wedding?”

“I havenae, Faither.”

He sighed, his face etched with exasperation. “Lord Fairfax has provided ye with a trunk full of gowns. Can ye nae simply choose one?”

“This is me wedding, Faither. I would think ye of all people, would want me tae look me best fer yer English lord?—”

“Yer English lord,” he corrected. “He is tae be yer husband, after all.”

“Nae by me own choice.”

“We willnae be having this conversation again. I have made the match, and ye will dae yer duty tae yer family and tae yer clan by accepting it.”

“It’s funny, when men speak of duty, they speak of going to battle and fighting tae protect their family and their lands. Tae protect the clan.”

“Believe me, lass, I would be overjoyed tae have sons willing and able tae fight fer our clan. Instead, I have ye. And so, I’m forced tae work with what I have,” he said with a sneer. “And ye should be thanking God above that I was able tae secure such a profitable match given that ye give me very little tae work with.”

Ciara had long believed herself to be immune to his insults and cutting words. They were such a part of her everyday life that she’d believed she’d formed callouses over her heart. But hearing those words fall from his lips only opened the wounds inside of her all over again. She hated him for it. But she hated herself for her weakness even more.

“There will still be time fer ye tae select a proper wedding dress later,” her father intoned. “I hope ye havenae forgotten that this evening we are hosting a feast fer yer betrothal. I expect ye tae be there. And ye will wear something fine, lass. Lord Fairfax needs tae believe he’s gettin’ somethin’ worthy out of this deal.”

Ciara’s gaze fell to the floor as anger surged through her veins. She’d never felt so disrespected before in her life. Her father had said many cruel things to her over the years, but he had never made her feel as insignificant as he just had. Her eyes stung as they welled with tears and Ciara bit the inside of her cheek viciously to keep them from falling.

“Be prompt tae the celebration tonight, daughter,” her father said. “And should Lord Fairfax fancy ye and want tae take a few… liberties, I strongly suggest ye let him. After all, we dinnae buy a horse without taking it fer a ride around the stables first.”

And with that, he turned and strode from her bedchamber. Ciara flinched at the resounding boom of her door slamming shut. Her tears of anger finally fell, and Elspeth was there, wrapping her arms around Ciara from behind, gently holding her as she tried to compose herself.

“Ye’re right,” Elspeth whispered. “Ye need tae get away from here. Now .”